


Formless

by Skullszeyes



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Attraction, Autism, Blood and Gore, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Fear, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Mental Instability, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pride, Regret, Romance, Rough Kissing, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Ruben's colleague, Marcelo Jimenez, asked if his patient Leslie Withers could stay at the Victoriano Estate for a few weeks. Ruben reluctantly accepted. During Leslie's stay, they both find a sort of kinship with one another, but Leslie's time is almost up.





	1. Formless

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on fanfiction.net and I reread it over and I liked the concept. I couldn't believe I forgot about it for 2 yrs. The chapters will be short, and the characters might be a bit OOC. There will not be anything overly explicit.  
> I also changed their ages to make this story work without the age gap.
> 
> I hope you enjoy
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

Ruben rifled through his research files when he heard a banging echoing off the walls from the foyer. 

He sighed, brows furrowed, he dropped what was in his hands and left the work station that was behind the portrait in the music room. Closing the door and locking it with a combination, he headed off to see who was making all that noise. He opened the door to the foyer, and quietly closed the door behind him. The noise came from an inferior man who knows better than to bother him while he’s working. 

Marcelo Jimenez, and his brother, Valerio. There was someone else with them.

Did Marcelo bring him another patient from beacon to experiment on? The way they handled the others was different to the way the young man was cared for.

Unkempt white hair, standing at least five foot six or maybe eight. He was hunched over, his eyes moving to one area to the next. Trying to figure where he was in this unfamiliar environment.

He cleared his throat, bringing his hands in front of him. "What are you doing here, Marcelo?" Ruben demanded.

Marcelo gave a nod to his brother and walked over to him, "Ruvik. I'm here to ask a favor."

Ruben raised his brow at the nickname and what the doctor came to bare. He was a bit skeptical, but curious. "What is this favor?" he inquired, glancing to Valerio trying to console the boy who was having some sort of fit. Ruben figured the favor was about him, if it wasn't, why bring him unless he's used as another experiment.

"This is Leslie Withers," Marcelo introduced, his brother gripped Leslie's arm and dragged him over to them.

"No...No...let go..." Leslie said, trying to wrench his arm from Valerio's grip.

"I was hoping he could stay here for awhile, not as an experiment," he said quickly. Ruben looked at Marcelo as if the man were crazy, he didn’t doubt he was. "I consulted the staff at Beacon Mental Hospital that sometimes the mentally ill—if placed in different environments—will learn to heal. He already lived at the Hospice before he became my own personal patient, but lately he's been...erratic. I figured maybe he can stay here, of course I'll be watching over him and I'll keep him away from any vital research. Just for three weeks, maybe less."

Ruben didn't know if he wanted to take the doctor serious. Why let someone like this boy anywhere inside his home? There were too many traps, a few rooms were off limits, and Ruben himself didn't go near a few of them. The boy continued struggling in Valerio's grip, his livid face and heavy bags were evident enough that he didn't get much treatment from Beacon. Nor did he get any from Marcelo and Valerio, but what did that matter?

"No." Ruben turned and headed for the library that was on the top left wing of the estate. Hoping to locate more of his misplaced papers.

Marcelo sighed. "Wait here. I'll put some sense into him," he murmured to his brother, then hurried after Ruben.

Ruben couldn't believe Marcelo would ask such an outrageous request. He flicked the light on and walked to his father's desk that sat in the center of the library. It was stacked with books and papers that Ruben didn't bother touching until now. He sifted through several papers when he heard the doctor walk in.

"Ruvik, please, it's only for a few weeks," Marcelo pleaded. The man did this a lot, usually because Ruben disliked his ideas or any other further analysis and needs constant persuading to include it. This is no different.

"Why bring him here? Take him somewhere else," Ruben said, pushing several books off the desk and rifled through more papers, but none had the brain chemistry notes he wrote a few weeks ago. He didn't throw them out, unless he accidentally burned them along with some books. He wasn't careless, he never left anything unchecked.

"I can't...He'll only stay for three weeks, that's it. Then you'll never see him again," Marcelo said. Ruben looked at the man to see the desperation on his face, it oozed through every word and it was pathetic to witness.

With an exasperated sigh, he said, "Fine. Three weeks and that's it. Keep him away from the top floor."  _ Don't need curious eyes on my research. _

"Thank you, Ruvik," Marcelo said as he left the room.

Ruben didn't want to think of the mistake he just made. He was more concerned with the papers he lost. Without even a glance at the happy trio, or duo, since the Leslie patient doesn't look thrilled in the least, he headed back inside the secret room behind the portrait and thought of deactivating the traps upstairs, but decided against it. Usually strangers tried to get into the estate since his  _ 'disappearance' _ and the murder of his parents, once they realized there was someone living inside, the ones brave enough to enter never left. The screams lasted for days in their individual cells, some were left to starve, others were used to test more of his experiments and various research.

Maybe three weeks will pass and when it did, he wouldn't take another favor from Jimenez, unless he knew beforehand. Of course the man never did tell him what he was doing. This was no exception.


	2. berate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is trying to work but Leslie is screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters that I'm rewriting and editing are short, but once I'm finished, I'll try to make the newer chapters longer.

Two days passed since Ruben accepted Marcelo's offer and he was already regretting it. He wasn't properly introduced to Leslie, but from the screaming and banging on the main floor, he hoped he wouldn't. It's harder to focus with the noise when the silence was more welcoming. He wasn’t where he wanted to be on his research where he’d examine the brain chemistry of mentally ill patients. He can’t exactly do that with one running around like some flailing child.

"Leslie! Come back here this instant!" Marcelo yelled, which didn't help Ruben's growing headache.

He left the confines of his hidden study behind the fireplace in his parents bedroom and walked into the hall. He caught sight of the white clothes, skin and hair before Leslie disappeared around the corner like a fleeting ghost. Marcelo called his name from the library. The doctor couldn't be that absurd, could he?

Ruben sighed, he followed Leslie down the dark hallway. It lead to the dressing room where his mother and sister used to lounge in with other female visitors. At least before his parents were murdered and his sister perished in the fire.

He paused before the door, the memory, the ache in his chest, he breathed in deeply to calm himself down. He needed to focus on Leslie and to drag him to Marcelo. Why was he running from the doctor anyway?

He quietly closed the door behind him and stayed still. Listening to any noise, it wasn't long until he could hear Leslie hiding in the wardrobe. He was shaking, words tumbled from his lips in a repetitive manner.

Ruben walked around the screen and stood in front of the wardrobe. He grabbed the handles and pulled them open. Revealing the white haired patient huddled against the wall, body curled inwards, arms hugging his knees tightly, he clenched his teeth at the sight of Ruben. He tried pushing further into the wardrobe, but there was no more space for him to move.

Ruben's brows furrowed, he reached in, grasped Leslie's thin wrist and yanked him out of the wardrobe. Leslie yelped, stumbling out and falling against Ruben's chest, he took an unsteady step back, his wrists still tightly held in Ruben's hand.

Leslie tried pulling away, but Ruben's grasp was too tight. Without saying anything, Ruben dragged Leslie to the door that lead out to the staircase and the library across from them.

Marcelo was no longer calling out for his wayward patient. Shouldn't the doctor be looking for him, or was he doing something else entirely. Ruben pulled Leslie down the steps and headed for the dining room. He dropped Leslie's wrist and glanced around. There were strewn papers lying on the long dining table, books on one side, a few small hand held toys on the other, along with a fallen chair and a candlestick that once sat on the fireplace mantel.

“Stay.” Ruben told Leslie. He went back up to the library where he found Marcelo leafing through the books sitting on the desk. There wasn't anything there that was relevant towards Ruben's research, he didn't understand why Marcelo was wasting his time over things Ruben should have burned weeks ago.

"I found your patient on the West wing of the house, hiding inside a wardrobe. I thought you might want to know where he's been," Ruben said, standing idly by the doorway with his arms crossed.

Marcelo turned and gave Ruben a sharp nod. He dropped the papers he was reading and walked towards him, "Yes. My apologies. I hadn't realized he would make such a fuss."

"Yet you brought him here, thinking it might be therapeutic," Ruben said, watching as Marcelo barely made any type of expression that can deter him of his own reasoning.

It was clear the doctor only let his patient stay in the estate as an excuse to watch over him. Ruben grimaced at the thought, he didn’t need a babysitter. He was doing fine conducting his research on his own.

"Where is he?" Marcelo asked, walking past Ruben.

"I left him in the dining room," Ruben said, watching the doctor leave, listening to the faint creaks of the staircase until they vanished, instead he could hear Marcelo berating Leslie and Leslie's muffled repetitive words sounding shrill with anxiety and panic.

Ruben had no interest in knowing what the doctor was going to do with Leslie. When Leslie first entered the estate, he didn't look cared for. His blue eyes were smudged from lack of sleep, rimmed with red from excessive crying. There were faint bruises along his jaw, neck and hands.

He couldn't blame the people at Beacon when his own test subjects didn't have a proper room to sleep in. Ruben didn't even consider them _people_.

He headed back to his work room behind the fireplace and settled down at his desk. Picking up his pencil, he read over his notes about emotions provoking the human brain. Fear and aggression triggered a response by noise and sight, increasing stimulation. He'd have to shift memory perception and the vital reaction.

After awhile of tapping his pencil on the desk. He dropped it and stood, leaving the secret room. He heard the clattering of books as he came to the staircase and descended. The noises grew, Leslie's whimpers and Marcelo's harsh words being expressed woke the house to an echoing tremor.

Ruben continued walking, ignoring the image of Leslie's frightened face when he found him in the wardrobe. He looked like a scared experiment that he was about to dissect. He shook his head, he was busy with other things to consider a patient that wasn’t his own.


	3. distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is left with Leslie.

Ruben washed his hands after leaving the cell of Subject 14. The blood and grime was always tricky to scrub from under his fingernails. It's been several hours since he left Jimenez and Leslie upstairs. When he reached the main floor and walked down the hall, he found it quiet. It was the norm to him, but he knew there was a snooping doctor and a riled patient inside his home, the silence ran of suspicion.

He looked around the main floor, listening for any distinct noise, but only heard Leslie murmuring in the galley on the second floor. Ruben headed upstairs, finding Leslie rocking back and forth in front of Ruben's family portrait. He closed the door which made a loud echo, Leslie's stilled and looked over his shoulder, his brows creased in worry as he stood with his hands gripping a slip of paper.

"Where's Jimenez?" Ruben asked, he looked down at the paper Leslie was offering. He took it and unfolded the paper. He read it and frowned at Leslie whose head was slightly tilted to the side with dismay in his eyes. "He...left you," Ruben began, glancing down at the paper and Jimenez's handwriting, "with me?" There was a lot of wrong with Jimenez that he could write off as arrogance and pity, but this was too much. First he asked if _his_ patient could stay for several weeks in Ruben's home, now he just leaves his patient, with him?

Ruben crumpled the paper and stormed out of the room and down the hall to the dining room. He looked around for any other significant note the doctor left but there was nothing. Jimenez's papers and books were no longer stacked on the table, the only things that were out of place were Leslie's blocks and other hand held toys scattered on the floor and table.

"Tomorrow...evening."

Ruben looked over his shoulder at Leslie who stood at the threshold of the dining room and the foyer. He was still teetering, his gaze elsewhere, fingers wringing impatiently.

"Is that what he said? He'll return tomorrow evening?"

Leslie nodded, he bit down on his lip and that's when Ruben noticed the split and dried blood. He recalled Jimenez yelling at Leslie, and Leslie's whimpers. He took a hold of his wrist and pulled him into the kitchen where he made Leslie sit down on a stool. Leslie said nothing as his hands curled inwards and gripped his knees tightly. His gaze seemed far off, as if he didn't know what was truly going on around him.

Ruben turned the faucet on and took out a clean cloth from the drawer. Soaking the cloth and wringing it out. He stepped in front of Leslie, tilting his chin up and wiped the dried blood, there were fresh bruises along his jaw and forehead. His dark bags looked excessively heavy. How many days did Leslie went without sleep? Ruben brushed his fingers along Leslie's pale skin and over the fresh purplish bruises.

Leslie flinched abd leaned back, his mouth parted, but nothing came out. Ruben didn't know what he did, but he was mesmerized by Leslie's features. Blotched with bruises and the innocence in his blue eyes seemed to lure him in.

He swallowed thickly, letting the thoughts dissipate before rubbing away more of the blood on Leslie's pale lips. They were slightly moist from Leslie biting on them and almost looked inviting. He leaned in, but he stopped before he could do anything. He walked to the sink and dropped the cloth before turning on the faucet.

Leslie had stopped teetering and was staring at him. He had this confused expression on his face, as if he knew what Ruben was about to do, but didn't completely understand.

 _Damn, Jimenez. What was so important that you had to leave me with your patient?_ He shook his head, hoping the doctor would give him a straight answer once he returns. For now, he'll have to do something with Leslie, he didn't want him in the way while he organized the books and papers in the library. Since there was nothing else remotely to do, he grabbed Leslie's arm and pulled him through the dining room to the main foyer and pushed him towards the stairs.

Leslie said nothing as he hurried up the stairs, his hand gripping the railing. They walked inside the library, it was still a mess, he didn't exactly enjoy looking at what his father was once interested in when he was alive. The books and research were mostly on religion and old cults that were outdated. Maps of villages and townhouses, several grounds that were used for burning rituals.

Leslie glanced around the library, wringing his hands. Ruben didn’t want Leslie to wander around while he did his work, and he needed the silence. He grabbed Leslie’s arm and dragged him from the library, he opened the first door to his left and pulled Leslie into the room.

It was an ordinary room with blue wallpaper, a single double bed, a wardrobe and a writing desk. It was his own bedroom, he rarely slept in it since _they_ died. Leslie examined the room, finding the place accommodating as he glanced at Ruben.

"You're sleeping in here," Ruben states, leading Leslie to the bed, he flipped the blankets and indicated with the swoop of his hand for Leslie to get in, Leslie bit his lip and winced, remembering the cut.

Ruben sighed, "Hurry up. I have to organize some things and I don't have all day for you to decide."

Leslie crawled on the bed and Ruben covered him up as if he were a child. He was pretty certain Leslie was in his early twenties. He'd have to get more information about him from Jimenez tomorrow—if the doctor came back.

"I'll be down the hall in the library. Try to sleep," Ruben said, he walked to the door and glanced over his shoulder at Leslie who was staring in return. Ruben tore his eyes away and left the room.

Once he closed the door, the house creaked and groaned, but everything else was simple and quiet. He entered the library and began shuffling through the stacks of papers and books. Ignoring his father's writing as he piled the ones he was going to throw out on one side and the ones he was keeping on the other.

Since Laura died, he felt nothing. And now this odd feeling coming over him, it was sick and twisted and he wanted to do something about it, but what exactly? The urge to sink his fingers into Leslie's skin and listen to the noises and screams he would make. It was inviting, but he couldn't. He knew he couldn't do it. Leslie wasn't his to take, but why else would Jimenez bring him? Leslie _is_ the distraction.

For now, he'll have to get the answers from Jimenez, even how insolent the doctor may be.


	4. compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben and Leslie compromise.

Four hours ago, Ruben left Leslie in his bedroom to sleep. Four hours of tedious work, rifling and burning papers. He sighed when he finished organizing, all there was were piled books that would have a place in the storage room downstairs.

The house creaked and the wind pushed the branches against the window, making a low screech. A scream interrupted the silence he hoped would linger for the rest of the night. It echoed off the walls coming from down the hall.

Ruben set his books and papers down and strolled to his bedroom. Marcelo didn’t mention that Leslie suffered from night terrors. He entered the room where he noticed the discarded blankets and pillows on the floor. Leslie hid in the corner beside the writing desk. His legs were pulled to his chest and his face was tear streaked. His entire body shook as Ruben knelt down in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Ruben asked.

Leslie clenched his teeth and hid his face in his hands. "Monsters…" he murmured.

Ruben didn't know what to do. He never comforted someone before, at least not about nightmares. He racked his brain of his childhood, before the fire and his parents deaths. He used to have nightmares too, and when he had them, Laura would crawl in his bed and hold him until he fell back to sleep. He couldn't exactly do that, he and Leslie didn't even know each other.

Leslie was still shaking and his soft cries wouldn't let up. Ruben noted the greasy white strands and the unkempt clothes he wore. Marcelo left a bag in the dining room, he figured Leslie had some spare clothes to wear. With a sigh, he reached for Leslie's wrists and unlike the time in the dressing room, he handled Leslie more cautiously.

"I'll give you a bath."

The look on Leslie's face was complete distrust and he knew where it came from. Beacon Mental Hospital wasn't exactly a haven, the doctors and nurses were rude to the patients. Leslie's fear, the bruises marring his skin were evident of the harsh treatment.

He hesitated, thinking of the brutality he conducts in the basement. Where the screams of his _'patients_ ' are silenced. No one knows they're there, no one ever needs too.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Ruben said, standing up and waiting for Leslie, but he stared at him, a look of uncertainty crossed his face. Ruben scowled and began walking out of the room, leaving Leslie to his own devices, if he wanted, he could follow.

It didn't take long as he entered the hall and Leslie was several feet behind him. His hand holding the wall, while his other gripped the hem of his shirt. Ruben glanced back once and caught the distrust and confusion. He'd have to win his trust in a matter of minutes so he could give Leslie a bath. Or maybe he didn't have too. Marcelo should be back tomorrow, but the bruises and scolding Leslie was inflicted with still crossed his mind.

For the first time in awhile. Ruben had no idea what to do. Either wait for Leslie to make up his mind, or let him wander around until tomorrow evening. Until then, Ruben went back to rifling through papers and books.

Leslie glanced about, he wrung his fingers nervously. He stayed in the shadows of the bookshelves, gliding his fingers over dusty spines.

They stayed like this for half an hour. Leslie moved at a leisure pace, sometimes a gasp escaped him whenever he toppled a stack of books or dropped one from the shelf. He'd grunt and murmur to himself, he even attempted climbing the ladder, but didn't go up to the second level.

Ruben kept his thoughts to himself. Ignoring the urge to tell him to quiet down or leave the room entirely. Leslie was just being curious, he had no right to shut him out like that, even though he was annoyed by it. He stared at some documents, read a few nonsense pages about a cult and the religious churches going back several decades.

He stopped when he felt a pull on his coat. He looked to his left and found Leslie standing beside him, he didn't even hear him, not a creak from the wooden floorboards. Leslie stared at the papers and books with little interest.

"Bath?" Leslie muttered.

Ruben furrowed his brows, he dropped the paper he was holding in his hand on the table. "Finally made up your mind."

Leslie nodded slowly. "Clothes?"

"I'll get them. You know where the bathroom is, right?" he asked.

Leslie bit his lip and shook his head.

Ruben sighed and lead him down the hall, past his and Laura's bedrooms, until they stopped a room away from his parents. He walked into the room and flicked the light on. A claw foot tub sat at the end of the bathroom beside the wall, a white curtain hung above. A toilet and a round sink sat to the left with a white untouched towel hanging from a hook.

"Wait here," Ruben said, closing the door behind him before Leslie could protest. He headed back down the hall, past the library and down the staircase. It was quiet in the estate and couldn't help but feel it was unnerving, which was more stranger. He walked into the dining room and grabbed the bag sitting beside the table and headed upstairs again.

Leslie was in his early twenties. He figured maybe he could bathe by himself, but when Ruben walked into the bathroom again. He found Leslie standing in front of the bathtub with his shirt off. Showing his emaciated white skin marked with faint bruises and scars. The bones protruding the skin looked tempting to glide over, and Ruben had to fight the feeling of doing so as he closed the door and walked over to him.

He placed the bag on the toilet seat and unzipped it. Finding another pair of the Beacon Mental Hospital clothes inside. Of course Leslie wouldn't have anything else, why would he? He practically lived at Beacon for his mental instability he didn't bother asking Jimenez about. Once he returns, he'll ask for a full report on Leslie's condition, but for now, he'll just have to guess from the symptoms he's not hiding.

"Have you ever bathed yourself?" Ruben wondered, keeping his eyes on the clothes instead of Leslie's bruises and the scars that marked his skin. What kind of reaction would Leslie have if he pressed hard on one of the bruises? Would it be instantaneous, or would he try to suppress the pain? Such tempting questions that made Ruben's mouth parch with thirst.

"Showers..." Leslie murmured, "Took showers at...Beacon."

Ruben nodded slowly. "Okay. Well, you're going to take a bath, here...now." He met Leslie's blue eyes, they shone confusion, not fear, not like earlier when he was scared. It was an improvement, something that made Ruben glad.

"Get undressed."


	5. cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben gives Leslie a bath.

Ruben made sure the water wasn't too cold for Leslie. He turned, arms crossed and waited for Leslie to get in. The second he heard the splashes, he spun around. Leslie had pulled his legs to his chest, lowering his chin to his knees. The tips of his white hair dipped into the water and he looked incredibly vulnerable. Ruben knelt down beside the tub and rolled his sleeves up. He grabbed the soap that sat on the sink and soaked it in the water.

Leslie watched. Ruben knew from the bruises that he was badly hurt at Beacon, he didn't trust anyone and usually they don't bathe their patients, they would push them into a cold shower and that would be it. He didn't wait for Leslie to trust him, he brought the soap to Leslie's shoulders and slathered it along his skin. Ignoring the shudder, he grabbed Leslie's hand and placed the bar in his palm and reached for the shampoo.

Leslie stared at the soap and ran it along his arm, down to his wrist. Ruben didn't mind the distraction, he squeezed some of the shampoo into his hand and reached for the top of Leslie's head. He cupped some water and mixed the shampoo and made sure every inch of Leslie's head was covered in it.

Ruben washed the soup from his hands and stood up. He grabbed a spare towel and dried his hands. "Clean the rest of your body, make sure nothing gets in your eyes. I'll be back in ten minutes." He turned and left the bathroom and walked down the hall. In all his time with his research, he never thought he'd have to do this. Washing bodies was different when they were usually dead.

Not someone like Leslie. Warm, fragile, easily broken if prodded too hard, the undeniable look of distrust never faltered. Curious of how long that would last. He shook the thought from his mind and entered the library where he was greeted by the stacks of papers and books he'll have to sort through.

The house shuddered, branches scraped against the windows, making skeletal shadows on the floor. The wind whistled an eerie tune, but nothing else except silence surrounded him.

He picked up a stack of papers on the desk and dropped them on the floor without a single glance. He continued this process with several books, only staring at them with mild interest before discarding them. Ruben pulled open the drawers and slumped down on the chair, skimming over past notes his father wrote, he always found his father held a firm yet unyielding relent when it came to the church. The old newspapers identified his father's lack of skepticism.

He clicked his tongue and dropped them in the growing pile on the floor, before he could get to the next drawer, he heard a scream.

Ruben frowned and stood up, the screaming continued from down the hall. With one last furtive glance at his father's life's work. He headed down the hall and pushed open the bathroom door. The bath was no longer filled with water and Leslie stayed curled with drops of water slithering down from the tips of his hair and along his smooth skin, with the obvious redness from his eczema scars. He was visibly shaking with his eyes tightly closed.

Both the floor and the towel were soaking wet. Ruben grabbed three from the closet, dropping two on the floor at the base of the tub and tapped the edge.

Leslie shuddered and looked up, the dark bags underneath his eyes illuminated off his pale wet skin.

"What's wrong?" Ruben asked, setting the towel on the edge of the tub and reached for Leslie's chin. He didn't flinch away from his touch as Ruben lifted his face.

Leslie's eyes were bloodshot and looked irritable as he squinted up at Ruben, he turned his head, breaking Ruben's hold.

"I told you to make sure not to get soap in your eyes."

Leslie grinded his teeth together before saying, "In your eyes...in your eyes...in your eyes...eyes...eyes." He rubbed them and let out a broken sob.

Ruben scowled and turned the faucet on, ignoring Leslie's cry as the cold water splashed on his naked skin. He picked up the towel and soaked the end, turning off the faucet.

"Come here," Ruben said, feeling the soaked towels underneath his feet squelch as he moved to his left, but Leslie stayed pushed against the tub with his knees to his chest. "Leslie..."

"Hurts...it hurts." Leslie closed his eyes and reached his hands out.

Ruben watched him flail before grasping his wrist and tugging him forward. A yelp fell from Leslie lips as his free hand grasped the tub, keeping himself from falling into Ruben again.

"Look at me."

Leslie tilted his head up, keeping his eyes closed. He whimpered as Ruben pushed back his bangs sticking to his face and rubbing the wet cloth against his closed eyes.

Ruben flipped the towel around Leslie and pulled him out of the tub and planted him on the floor. Even though he let go of Leslie's wrist, Leslie shuffled closer to him, gripping the hem of his shirt.

Ruben lead him to the sink and placed him in front of it. "Wash the soap from your eyes." He turned the faucet on as Leslie scooped up water with shaky hands.

"Eyes...eyes." Leslie leaned against the sink and scooped water into his hands, rubbing his eyes enough that when he was finished, he turned back to Ruben who turned the faucet off.

"Good?" Ruben asked, wrapping the rest of the towel around Leslie's waist.

Leslie nodded, taking a tentative step forward, breaking the personal space between them. Ruben noticed that Leslie's trust was growing. It was odd. He figured all that neglected time in Beacon, he'd be more suspicious of someone being kind to him. Ruben found this distasteful and walked over to the chair where he left Leslie's clothes, when he turned, he stifled a groan as Leslie clung to his side.

"You can change yourself, right?"

Leslie nodded, keeping his eyes downcast.

"Great. I'll be down the hall." Ruben placed the clothes into Leslie's hands and walked out of the bathroom. He shuddered once he closed the door, the cold air enveloped him when the bathroom's heat felt nicer. He couldn't help the scowl as he pushed himself away from the door and walked to the library.

The stacks of paper and books no longer appealed to him. He'd rather burn them until every little bit of his father's work was gone, and _his_ own was replaced in the occupied space.

He slumped down on the chair and stared at the pile. He caught himself waiting for Leslie, glancing down the hall, but it remained empty. Fighting an urge to check on him. Scowling, he turned his head each time before finally he smelled something flowery in the air unlike stagnant water and dust.

He turned around in his chair and Leslie walked into the room, fingers wringing together. The clothes looked cleaner than the ones he wore before, his white hair still stuck to his face and Ruben wondered if it was too cold in the room.

Ruben stood, "Finished."

Leslie looked at him for the briefest moment before turning his gaze to the floor. He nodded a few times, "Finished...finished...Cold...It's cold."

"There's a fire place in the dining room. You can sit in there."

Leslie nodded. "Alone?...Alone?"

Ruben didn't know what to do besides look over his shoulder at the stacks of papers and books. He sniffled and sighed deeply.

"No. I'll join you. I have to burn some things anyway."


	6. expected

Ruben stood to the side of the fireplace looking idly into the flames while he tossed in scrunched up pieces of paper. Leslie sat a foot to his right, throwing in his own pieces of rolled up paper. They've been at this for nearly fifteen minutes and from the look of contentment on Leslie's face, he isn't so cold anymore.

Ruben tore out another paper from his father's many journals and rolled them up. Placing them down beside him while Leslie reached for it and tossed it in.

"Tired yet?"

Leslie shook his head.

"Tell me when and I'll take you back to the room."

"Do...you sleep?" Leslie murmured.

Ruben rubbed his eyes. "Not really."

The last time he slept was a few days ago. He forgotten to eat as well, his energy was used for his research and nothing else. His body did betray him at times, usually by forcing him to sleep at his desk or collapsing in the hall with little aid. Waking up numb and sick, his body ached all over until he could find something to suppress the pain so it wouldn't drag him down. Eating backfired, but there were moments when he could swallow small morsels of food, drinking liquids helped the stomach aches.

Ruben noticed they were running out of papers. "I'll be right back." He didn't wait for Leslie's response as he left the room and headed upstairs. The frigid air attacked him as he meandered in the library, gathering books into his arms.

He went back to the dining room where he found Leslie curled on the floor. He furrowed his brows as he placed the books on the table and knelt beside Leslie. His breathing was slow and even.

There was no way Ruben was going to carry Leslie upstairs to the bedroom. Nor did he think sleeping on the floor was wise when the fire was going to burn out in a few hours, he figured Leslie would wake up like he did before during a nightmare.

Sighing, he nudged Leslie's shoulder a few times, when his eyes blinked open, Ruben grabbed his arm and helped Leslie to his feet.

"Come on, I'll take you to the room."

"Alone?" Leslie said in a sleepy voice as he clung to Ruben's arm.

Ruben gritted his teeth at the feel of his hands while taking him to the stairs. "Yes, alone."

Leslie groaned. "Not alone...not alone." He panted, his fingers digging into Ruben's arm.

"Ah...Leslie. Let go." Ruben reached down and gripped Leslie's wrist, wrenching it off him before he could tear at any sensitive areas. Leslie shook his head as Ruben dragged him up the stairs and into the library.

"Monsters...they'll...get me...not alone...not alone." Leslie sobbed, dragging his feet to try and slow down Ruben, and when Ruben was fed up with it, he swiftly turned around and grasped Leslie's arms, pushing him hard against the wall.

Leslie shuddered while Ruben glared. "There are no monster. You're not alone."

"Alone...alone." His voice broke while tears streamed down his face. "Alone."

Ruben let out a frustrated noise before grasping Leslie's arm and pulling him the rest of the way to the bedroom. Swinging the door open and shoving Leslie inside, Ruben shook his head once before walking in himself and closing the door behind him.

Leslie rubbed his tears from his eyes. Ruben flicked the light off and walked to the desk across from the bed, he turned the lamp on.

Leslie sniffled and sat down on the bed, bringing his legs to his chest. "You're staying with...me?"

"Isn't it obvious. Go to sleep."

Leslie frowned, pulling the blankets out and crawling underneath. He watched Ruben until his eyes fluttered shut.

There were notes on the desk, marked three weeks ago. Nothing substantial, just small eager writing. Ruben wrinkled his nose and crumpled the paper into a ball. When he turned, he found Leslie fast asleep again.

The few living patients from Beacon whom are trapped in the cells wore the same clothes as Leslie. Unlike their decrepit condition, Leslie slept in his bed with a look of contentment. He cursed Jimenez for making him babysit when he could be working.

Not bothering to think of the consequences of leaving Leslie on his own, he slipped out of the room and headed down the hall, past the library and down the steps. The crackling of the flames continued as he headed for the basement. Once he closed the door, he knew if Leslie shouted for him, he wouldn't hear him.

He walked down the steps, the cold air brushed against him as he suppressed a shiver. The sounds of his test subjects grew, their moans and laughter echoed along the walls, some cried, yelling for help while others broken beyond repair made little noise.

Ruben walked into a room that looked like a kitchen. Dirty counters with papers and jars of organs, splattered dried blood and surgical instruments. Two large sinks, to the far side there was a bath with a body filled with grime. In the center of the room was a table with a mental patient from Beacon. A girl with short dark hair, hazel eyes and pale skin. She was strapped down, staring at the lights above her, she didn't acknowledge his presence as he walked past her to the counter where he examined his notes.

He opened her up and cut out certain things, watching her brain waves react to the gruesome things he was doing to her while she stayed awake, anesthesia running through her veins. Now she's catatonic, but before she experienced hallucinations and spoke in jumbled words.

Ruben considered dumping her somewhere. A broken experiment wasn't a useful one. He sighed and walked over to her, placing his hand on her chin and turning her head toward him. Snapping his fingers in front of her eyes.

"Milla..." No reaction. Just as he thought, he'd have to get rid of her, or let her rot in one of the cells with the others.

He loosened the restraints and trailed a hand along her pale neck. She was calm with little notice to anything around her.

A scream jolted him out of it. He maneuvered around the table and swung the door open, the halls were empty but he could still hear the terrified screams. He knew it wasn't coming from any of his prisoners and when he found the culprit, he couldn't help squeezing his fists together and grinding his teeth.

Frustration at the sight of a white spectral looking horrified at one of the inmates waving his hands through the small barred window. Screaming for help. From the looks of it, Leslie couldn't even move an inch, his hands were clasped together, pulling his fingers in different ways before letting out a loud shriek.

Ruben growled and walked toward him. Leslie didn't even seem to notice him until he was a beside him, about to grab his arm.

Leslie jerked away from him. This small act somehow struck a harsh pain in Ruben's chest, but he pushed it away before it could take hold of him.

"Why are you down here?" he asked, not able to mask the annoyance that Leslie followed him, and now that he stood mere feet from him with terror on his face. A tingling sensation began at his hands, as if he wanted to reach out and strangle Leslie and slam his head against the cold wall until his blood seeped to the floor.

He grit his teeth and moved toward Leslie who backed away. His finger dug into the top of his hands, leaving deep red imprints as he shook his head.

"I asked you a question." Ruben noticed the softness of his voice, the tingling feeling growing, his mouth felt parched as if Leslie were something delicious in front of him and all he'd have to do to feel sated was to dig his teeth into his pale skin.

He reached his hand up to cup Leslie's chin, this only made Leslie flinch, clenching his teeth as his blue eyes looked up at Ruben.

"Alone..." he said in a broken tone, his lips chapped and his body shivering from how cold it was down in the basement.

Ruben hands were already freezing, yet he ignored it since his research always came first before his own personal priorities.

"I know," Ruben said, the screams of the people continued to echo, and that seemed to spur the moment between himself and Leslie. Having found a desire that crept along his skin, staring into frightened eyes that stared evenly as if Leslie was slowly getting used to the sounds.

Ruben didn't think about it, not the consequences he'd have to deal with afterward. He never apologized for what he wanted and this was no different.

He leaned down, pressing Leslie against the wall and kissed him. It was hard and when he turned his head, he felt a sort of relief at the softness of Leslie's mouth. He breathed through his nose, gripping Leslie's face to keep him steady. He felt Leslie reaching for his shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of his coat.

Then it was over, too fast and not enough.

Leslie ran the second he got his opportunity, leaving Ruben to lean his forehead against the wall and close his eyes, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.


	7. generator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm took out the power and Ruben wants to turn the generator on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is where I stopped and decided not to update for 2 yrs. :) lol. Yeah, I need a better title, I'll think of one later.   
> Anyway, I hope you like what I've already written up, I did edit and revise it a bit. 
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

Leslie's been holed up in Laura's room for the past several hours to Ruben's annoyance. He tried asking Leslie to get out, but all he received was silence. For the moment alone, Ruben burned most of his father's journals and papers out of frustration. He trembled with the urge to gouge someone's eyes out.

He looked down the hall, clenching his hands and remembered how he felt when he kissed Leslie's chapped lips. His body trembling in that cold dark place amongst the broken. He released his hands and looked around for more books, but they were torn to shreds.

He'd have to find more.

As he headed downstairs, a rumble of thunder shook the house, some of the lights flickered but he continued until he stopped, gripping the railing when he heard a soft shrill come from upstairs. He glanced over his shoulder and continued descending the staircase.

There was no way Leslie was afraid of thunder. It was just noise.

Ruben went down into the basement where the thunder became distant and the familiar tortured screams blocked out Leslie's.

He walked down the halls, ignoring the groans and soft laughters that echoed against the walls. Some of the rooms had small windows that you could look inside and see the person strapped to a steel table, wrists bloody and a mask covering their faces, others laid in tubs and gurneys.

He went to the far end of the hall to a room, taking out his keys, he unlocked the door and walked in. It was more of a filing room, except the books and papers were stained of mildew and stagnated water, the ends curling of the damp air inside the room. He picked up a handful and left, heading back upstairs where Leslie's scream was quiet, even when a clapping of lightning echoed in the air.

This brought on a curiosity as Ruben headed upstairs, set the books and papers on the table and headed for Laura's room. The screams continued with each lapse of thunder shuddering the house.

With a deep sigh, he rapped his knuckles against the door. "Leslie…are you alright?"

"Help," Leslie yelped from beyond the door. Another rumble shook the house, eliciting whimpers from Leslie.

Ruben sighed, leaning his head against the door and closing his eyes. "Can you open the door?"

"Help," Leslie called.

Ruben headed for his bedroom door and grabbed the knob that lead to Laura’s. He frowned when the door didn’t open, and figured Leslie locked it on the other side.

Knocking on the door, "Leslie. Open up."

Another thunder shook the house and he could hear rattling on the other side, something falling and everything went dark. Ruben looked around, a chill crawled along his skin as he walked over to the nightstand. He tried turning it on, but the room stayed dark.

"Great, the electricity went out."

He would have to start up the backup generator in the basement, but he wasn't sure if he should leave Leslie by himself.

“Leslie,” Ruben called, knocking on the door again, but there was no response. He was about to leave to check the generator when the doorknob turned, a soft groan came from beyond it when another rumble of lightning shook the house. The door came free from the frame, and even in the darkness, Leslie looked like a ghost. He pushed the door opened and wrapped both arms around Ruben.

Ruben froze in place, not because Leslie's hold tightened when another thunder shook the house, he did flinch, but mostly because he didn't want to let go. Cursing himself, he reached down and grabbed Leslie's hands.

"No...No," Leslie cried, tightening his arms around Ruben's waist and burying his face into his chest.

Ruben sighed, walking backwards toward the bed and sat down, only for Leslie to crawl on top of him.

"Damn it, Leslie."

"Loud...it's loud," Leslie murmured, gripping Ruben's shirt.

Ruben reached down and grabbed Leslie's side and pulled him off of him. "It's just thunder."

Leslie shook his head, his white hair falling into his eyes, but Ruben saw the tears and the blotchy redness.

Ruben sighed, since he forced a kiss on Leslie, a simple weather issue changed his mind dramatically. Not like this was what Ruben wanted in the first place. “Leslie. I have to turn the generator on.”

"Don't...leave me."

Ruben reached down and took his hand. "It's in the basement." Leslie stiffened beside him, and Ruben knew that he remembered what he saw, what he heard, and mostly what Ruben had done to him. "You can stay here," Ruben offered.

Leslie shook his head, whimpering as another deep grumble reverberated the house. He gasped out cries as he looked up at Ruben. "Don't leave me."

Ruben sucked in a sliver of breath and stood up, his hand still entwined with Leslie. It seemed to comfort them both as they left the room and walked down the hall, Leslie sticking to Ruben's side, shaking and whimpering as more thunder shook the house. Ruben blinked a few times to find his bearings. They managed to make it down the stairs, along the halls to the basement stairs where the screams of the faceless echoed continuously.

Leslie stayed stuck in the doorway. "You can stay here," Ruben said, the cold was seeping into the house and making him shudder. Ruben was eager to turn the generator on.

Leslie closed his eyes, his hand tightened in Ruben's grasp. "No...I don't want... to be alone."

He didn’t know how this would end once they were down in the basement. If Leslie would lock himself away again. They descended before walking past rooms with screaming subjects. Ruben was so cold, he was stiffening up and Leslie was pressed against him, his arm encircled around his own.

When they arrived to a room with an engraving on the door. GENERATOR. Ruben grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open with enough force, but there wasn’t enough space unless he squeezed himself through.

He looked back at Leslie who was staring at the bold engraving, teetering back and forth as he rubbed his hands together.

"I'll be right back." Ruben let go of Leslie’s hand and was about to slide through the gap.

Leslie pulled him back. “No!”

Ruben tried shaking him off. "It'll only take a second."

Leslie cried, shaking his head back and forth.

Ruben gritted his teeth. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." He managed to slip inside, trying to ignore Leslie's cries. He walked throughout the room and found the generator, he managed to press a few buttons to turn it on. He always figured the automatic generators would be more useful, but since his parents deaths, he hadn't thought of upgrading anything.

The lights flickered to light, revealing the small room with a dirty floor and mold growing in the corners. He walked back to the door and caught sight of Leslie sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He was shaking uncontrollably.

Ruben sighed, he slipped through the gap and knelt down beside him. "I didn't leave you, Leslie."

Leslie raised his head slowly, his face wet from tears and before Ruben knew it, he flung himself against him, making Ruben slam his back against the door. It moved a centimeter, but Ruben was more curious and surprised why Leslie was hugging him.

"Don't leave me...don't leave me...don't leave me," Leslie murmured against the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around Ruben's neck.

Ruben closed his eyes. "I think you're overreacting."

They stayed this way longer than Ruben liked, but when they finally moved, Ruben took Leslie's hand and lead him back upstairs. The thunder seemed to calm Leslie down more than the screams in the basement.


	8. regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is disturbed by Leslie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Thanks to whoever is interested in this story. I'm hoping to finish it and not forget about it like I originally did. Haha.  
> Anyway, I added a bit of myself into this story, my diagnosis. :D 
> 
> I hope you enjoy
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo are appreciated.

Ruben sat down in the chair, hand placed on the desk, fingers tapping on the wood. The storm went down a few minutes ago and now the wind was the only thing left. The branches outside kept brushing against the house. “Sleep, Leslie.”

Leslie stood near the door, fingers wringing. “You’ll stay?”

Ruben met his eyes. “What do you think I’m doing. Lay down.”

Leslie sniffled and ambled over to the bed where he pushed back the blankets. “You’re...not going to leave?”

Ruben rolled his eyes. “Lay down.”

Leslie sat down, bringing his legs up, he grasped the covers and pulled them over him. Except he didn’t lay down, he stared at Ruben with a look of distrust.

Ruben stared back, tired and annoyed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Leslie laid down and stared at the ceiling. He stayed this way for over a few minutes before his eyes closed shut.

Ruben didn’t know what the time it was, he figured it was going to be morning soon. Except he stayed where he was at the writing desk. He pulled open the small compartment and found a pencil. He took it out and began writing down Leslie’s noticeable symptoms.

He concluded that Leslie has behavioral issues, trauma, and detachment of obvious emotions from what he has seen all night. He seem to ignore the screaming down in the basement, and his attachment to Ruben was an inconvenience.

“Would Jimenez even give me any information on you?” Ruben wondered to himself. The man wasn’t known to partner himself with others unless he was given something in return. Usually what he receives is a higher value of what he wants to know. He was nothing but scum to Ruben, annoyance that grew into an impossibility. He couldn’t rid himself of him, and he did try, but the man held on.

Ruben stared at the words, his eyes blinking, his body was sluggish and before he knew it, he leaned against the table and fell asleep. The dreams were all the same, a tormenting cycle of a field of sunflowers and blue skies. The barn where laughter rang out before the flames twisted them into agonizing screams. His skin peeled away, and the last thing he knew was that Laura didn’t come out from the barn as it began to collapse in itself.

“Laura…” he murmured, gaze blurry before noticing that he wasn’t in an awkward position anymore, but on something soft. He sucked in a breath at the sight of a sleeping Leslie, his breathing was even, fingers twined into the blanket. Ruben pushed himself up, eyes wide, confused and alert. “What? How?” He slipped off the bed, moving back until he was against the wall.

His heart raced in his chest, and his mouth went parch. He breathed hard, staring at Leslie, at the bed and the blankets and the warmth. Ruben rounded the bed and headed for the door without looking back.

The cold hall greeted him as he walked to the library. He picked up the books he took from the basement and threw them into the fire. The crackling bit at the papers and the spines of old rotten books. Ruben stared as the fire ate the remnants of his father’s work, of his legacy, his asinine obsession.

It wasn’t enough, the confusion was still there, his heart raced with questions, and there was something else. The same feeling that came over him while he and Leslie were in the basement. The feeling of something that wasn’t his.

He knew what belonged to him and he went downstairs into the dark. He entered the room where he left Claire, she stared at the lights, at the ceiling, her smile was empty, and her eyes were a void.

Ruben grabbed her by the arm and dragged her off the table. She landed with a thump and didn’t react as he dragged her out of the room, down the hall, he took out the keys from his pocket and unlocked one of the cells. A man sat within, he was shivering, whimpering in the corner, his eyes grew big at the sight of Ruben.

He dragged her in and let go of her arm. She stared at him with that emptiness, everything else she had, he carved out of her. All that insanity, the pain, the anguish, the anger, it was gone and it was his. He turned and closed the door, locking it up and walking away.

He opened another door where a girl was lying on the bed, she was curled inward, shivering within her Beacon Mental Hospital clothes. Her hair was sheared, and her eyes were blue. She looked up at him, frightful, knowing exactly why he was there.

She sat up slowly. “Is it my turn?” she asked in a soft voice.

He reached his hand out to her, “Yes.” She took his hand and he pulled her up on her feet, taking her from the room. He didn’t bother locking the door, it was useless, she was the only one there.

“Don’t do this, please,” she whispered, her cries choking her up. “Please.”

“You know like everyone else,” his hand tightening around hers, “that’s not going to work on me.” He dragged her into the room and she stared, afraid of the table as he helped her in, strapping her down. “This won’t take long.”

He turned around and grabbed a few notes, looking through them until he found the papers with her face on them. They also had her diagnosis and how long she was staying in Beacon Mental Hospital.

“Claire, you suffer from Psychotic Depression,” he looked up at her, brushing away a stray hair that was over her face, “after awhile you won’t feel a thing.” He dropped the papers on the table and took up  a syringe.

“What are you going to do...to me?” she asked, staring wide eyed at the syringe.

He stepped closer, raising his hand that held the syringe. “I’m testing something on my patients, something that I’m building needs proficient hosts, something that could hold a mind like my own.” He injected the contents of the syringe in her arm and her eyes fluttered, her head pressed against the table, and her body went loose.

He placed the syringe down near the papers with her name on them. “You’ll feel everything that I’m about to do to you, but you won’t be able to scream, to fight.”

He took up the scalpel and began tearing at her flesh. A tear had rolled down her cheek as he was mesmerized of her body opening up. Her flesh came loose, the blood oozed out. His hands were no longer shaking, and his heart evened out.

After he was done with her, he stitched her up and wiped at the tears. The anesthesia would come down and she would move about, but her exhaustion would be there. There was no point in fighting anyway. She wasn’t going anywhere.

He washed his hands and dried them. He found clean papers and began making a list for Jimenez.  For that entire time with Claire, he was able to ignore the thought of Leslie upstairs in his bed. Now he could simply go back to work, the doctor would return in a few hours, and that would be it.

He’d distant himself from Leslie, it was the only thing he could think of that mattered. He had to focus on his work, if he didn’t, it wouldn’t come to fruition. He stopped writing, and his thoughts went to Laura, screaming in his head, over and over and over again.

She was like a monster, a screaming monster that came after him constantly. A nightmare he created of his dear sister lingering inside his head.

He had to work, he had to make this work, for her.


	9. mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie initiates something dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, it really made me happy because I was wondering if anyone actually liked this story, I'm not really sure tbh. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

Ruben and Leslie stood on the steps of the Victoriano Estate. Ruben had his hands on his hips while Leslie was hunched over, fingers tapping against each other.

It was little over six in the evening, and Leslie didn’t wake up until the afternoon. Ruben had come up from the basement a few hours before. He managed to file through his father’s papers.

They spent their day avoiding one another, Ruben mostly, he didn’t want to deal with Leslie, and Leslie didn’t seem bothered by the distance.

“He’s not coming,” Ruben said, shaking his head. He wasn’t as surprised as he thought, but it still annoyed him that Jimenez didn’t come back.

“He’s not coming...he’s not coming” Leslie looked up, “What do we do?”

Ruben frowned. He didn’t know what they were meant to do. He should’ve expected this from Jimenez. “Let’s go back inside.” He lead Leslie into the house and closed the doors, the sound echoed off the walls and the silence between them rang in Ruben’s ears.

Leslie placed his hands to his stomach and Ruben heard the undeniable grumble.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Leslie nodded.

Ruben sighed, “Okay. Follow me.” He lead Leslie through the dining room, down the hall and into the kitchen. It was a mess, but as he opened the fridge and found little food, some of it was spoiled, molded, rotten. He picked up an orange and checked a few to see if they were okay and found one that was. He walked over to Leslie who had sat down on a chair.

“I don’t have much food here,” he said, peeling the orange, “I’ll get Jimenez to buy something for you when he returns.”

He stayed focused on the orange peels, the cold texture of the orange inside, instead of the eyes that were fixed on him. He didn’t know why Leslie was staring, not until he felt his hand on his cheek, tentative, soft. His fingers seeking out what was beneath the bandages that covered his face, his head and the rest of his body.

Ruben dropped the orange peel and reached for Leslie’s wrist, pulling his fingers away from him. “Don’t touch,” he said.

Leslie’s brows knitted together, he breathed deeply through his nose, but he did what Ruben asked and kept his hands in his lap.

Once the orange was done, he held it before Leslie. “Eat.”

Leslie cupped the orange and stared at it for a moment while Ruben threw out the orange peels. When he turned around, Leslie had pulled the orange apart and was passing the half piece to Ruben.

He stared at it, mouth parted, before shaking his head. “No. You eat it.”

“Eat it,” Leslie said.

His stomach ached just by looking at it. He knew it would be sweet, cold against his tongue, but he also knew that it would hurt to swallow it. Ruben took a step back, shaking his head, but Leslie held it out.

“I...can’t,” he said, a grotesque feeling came over him, tightening in his head, making him shudder at the sight of the orange.

Leslie frowned, he looked at the orange before placing his own on the table and ripping a smaller piece off, holding it out to Ruben. “Eat.”

Ruben clenched his teeth to stop his breath from coming out too hard. His heart raced, a sickening feeling in his chest. He reached for the slice of the orange and touched it, the coolness on his fingertips made him dizzy.

Leslie ripped off his own and ate it without trouble.

When was the last time he ate? A few days ago? A week ago? He didn’t know, it seemed like a long time, and the food always disagreed with him. He stared at the piece, bright orange, its sweet juices inside were inviting, but he could think of something else. Something warm along his fingertips, the incision of parted flesh, the red thick blood sliding out, it made his mouth water at the thought.

Ruben ate the orange.

He kept it on his tongue for only a moment before swallowing. He clenched his teeth at the jarring feeling and suppressed a shudder that ran through his body.

Leslie stared at him as if there was something wrong with him.

Ruben stepped away, hands shaking at his sides. “Just eat your food,” he said, before leaving the room. He wiped at his mouth in the hall, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He didn’t normally have too many issues with eating, but the food sometimes came back up. It disturbed his time researching, so he simply stopped eating, letting the hunger linger before finally, it faded.

Now, the food was sweet and he wanted more, but he was afraid.

“Ruben.”

He turned around and Leslie stood too close, looking up at him. The orange wasn’t in his hands, but the smell of citrus lingered around him.

“Are you finished?” he asked, curling and uncurling his fingers.

Leslie stared at him and he stepped closer, his hand touched his arm and he leaned up. Ruben knew what was about to happen, and whatever sickening feeling he felt before about the food vanished from his mind the second Leslie’s lips touched his. It was the press of lips, hesitant and small, and when Leslie was about to pull away. Ruben grabbed his arms, digging his fingers into his skin, he turned him around and pressed him against the wall.

Leslie let out a hitched cry before it was silenced. Ruben lost himself in the kiss, prying Leslie’s mouth open, he touched his tongue which earned him moan. Leslie’s hands held onto him, and he breathed hard through his nose as Ruben smothered him with his mouth. He chased that fluttering feeling he had for some time, the one where he looked at Leslie with distaste. He craved it, he grew hungry and starved for it that when he finally got it. He could do nothing but drown in it.

Ruben pulled back, gasping, his fingers still digging into Leslie’s arms, keeping him firmly against the wall. Leslie gasped, his lips puffy and red, slick with spit. He closed his eyes, shaking.

Ruben slowly let go of his grip on Leslie and leaned into him, his entire body covering Leslie’s, and as he closed his eyes, forehead pressed against the wall. The distaste came back, the one that drowned him in that delicious starvation that earned screams from his victims, that filled him with something he could grasp with the slice of a knife.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked after awhile of them catching their breaths. He knew that he shouldn’t have succumbed, that falling into this was too dangerous for him. He recalled the taste of citrus in his mouth that came from Leslie’s, that was filled with it. The warmth of his was tantalizing, a deep and utter control spilled forth from his mouth, from his hands.

Ruben stepped back, his mind controlled, his body exhausted from the mental battle of his decisions that he had to make. A kiss from Leslie should’ve been distasteful. He should’ve been more wary, this was nothing but a distraction. He should have more control.

He took another step away, “You can’t...do that again.”

Leslie looked up, his mouth parted. “Can’t?”

Ruben gritted his teeth, how would he be able to make him understand. “You can’t do that again, Leslie. Do you realize what I am, what I’ve been doing, you seen it first hand. You can’t just dismiss it as nothing, you have to understand that what you did was dangerous.”

“Why?” he asked after a moment.

Ruben looked down at his hands, his fingers curled, a thought to strangle Leslie came to mind, but he pushed it away. “Because if you did it again...I don’t think I would stop, I don’t think I would care about your well being.” He met Leslie eyes, “Because you’re not mine to do with as I please.”

A silence between them was disrupted by the front door closing, an echo so loud that it jolted them. Ruben’s brows furrowed, he left Leslie in the hall, not caring if he followed. He walked through the dining hall and into the foyer where the doctor stood with his suitcase, currently holding a file.

“Jimenez,” Ruben said through gritted teeth.


	10. Imprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is trying his best to ignore Leslie, but he manages to speak with Jimenez while Leslie sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. It's been almost a year, the last time I updated was in Feb. I know, my bad, but I was conflicted. I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue with this story since some people don't like Leslie's character with Ruben/Ruvik. However, I came to the conclusion that some people write worse things than I do (not bashing in the least), and all I want to write is love, dark stuff with blood and dead people, and nothing hurting Leslie. That's all. And I don't want anyone hating me for writing this story. :/
> 
> I'll try to be more consistent with my updates. I have a lot of work to do, so I'll try to get in a chapter every few weeks.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

Several hours after Jimenez arrived, Ruben locked himself inside his study, skimming over several papers with diagrams and long paragraphs.

He filed them away and looked through some books, biting his lower lip, and pushing them back into the shelf. He returned to the diagrams, glanced over them, and added more notes to any available space.

Work. This is what he should be doing, not babysitting, not glaring at Jimenez who spoke over him. He had wrenched his hand out of Leslie’s tight hold and marched away from the two. Jimenez calling his name, but it was soon shut out when he slammed the door. The banging ceased an hour ago, and since then, all he did hear was silence and his own mutterings.

What did he think would happen? That something would develop in some kind of healthy way when it was all conjecture. He was not meant to cross that line, nor lead Leslie over it either. There were rules and intricacies that didn’t allow something like this, and he was annoyed he can’t even say what it is.

He placed a hand against the side of his head, trying to ease the thoughts away, but he grew more irritated by them. He thought of Leslie too much and it hindered his focus on his actual work.

Ruben cleared his throat, writing down a sequence of events he wants to do by the end of the week. His test subjects are still ripe, and he’d like to explore what he can find by any substantial reaction he can get out of them before their minds inevitably break under the pressure.

He wouldn’t deny that it fascinates him, but also there’s a type of drive, a current that he can recognize as temptation. It’s relaxing. There’s a strong yearning when he holds scalpel to skin. The stark color of life escaping from a trembling body.

How could he deny himself the fascination of his work? He enjoyed it too much to part. Yet, his thoughts filter until the eyes of a frightened white haired, blue eyed patient appears in the dark old corridors of his home. The cold clinging to the walls and drifting in plumes from his lips.

He looked ethereal. A being that shouldn’t exist in the spaces that Ruben had walked since he was a child. The taint surrounding him didn’t bother to touch his pale skin covered in eczema scars and old wounds from being mistreated within Beacon Mental Hospital. His frightened expression that knew better of the horrors that lay underneath the wooden floorboards he walked upon. He had experienced what was in the basement, the cold walls, and tortured screams.

And yet, he had given Ruben an orange, he had leaned close, and kissed him. It was a mistake, Ruben knew it was, it had to be. Why kiss someone like him? Why did he even bother too? There had to be another motive, something that Leslie was meant to do inside his home instead of distracting him from his—

Ruben grinded his teeth, his fingers curling, blunt fingernails dug into his palms. It was obvious from the moment Jimenez had walked out. Transparent. He knew better, and he had fallen for whatever trap the doctor had set for him.

“Damn it,” he muttered, releasing his fists and pushing himself away from the desk. He sat for a moment, thinking of what he was going to do, but the rage inside burned heavy, and he was clouded by smoke.

Ruben left his study and stormed down the hallway. It was cold, pricking his skin and trailing down his sides and along his spine. He ignored the urge to shiver and looked around the rooms for either Leslie or Jimenez.

He found them in the dining hall.

Leslie is curled up in front of the fireplace with a blanket covering his thin body. Jimenez on the other hand was leaning against the table, several books sat beside him, and he had a notepad in his hand, writing something upon the page.

“Why did you leave him with me?” Ruben asked, entering the room, and keeping his eyes on Jimenez. There was a slight protectiveness he had for Leslie, and he hated it, so he shoved it down and promptly ignored it.

“I had to leave,” Jimenez said, focused on his notepad before looking up with a blank stare, “it was urgent.”

“Was it now?” Ruben asked, dryly.

“You already agreed to keep him for three weeks, and he stayed for one.”

“Barely one week,” Ruben said, crossing his arms. “He was a nuisance, a distraction, I have work, Jimenez. I’m not babysitting your patients for you.”

“But you’re experimenting on them.”

“Work,” Ruben stressed, fingers digging into his arms where he blinked at the pain from taut skin that was once burned and later healed. He would never truly get over it, or even manage to forget that it was there. Days cannot make him ignore what had happened before nor after. Always the reminders, however harsh they were, lingered around him and upon his body. It settled more intensely inside his head, memories replaying over and over again during the late nights. It brought a discomfort that insomnia and a knife splitting skin apart managed to fix for a short amount of time.

“I assure you, Ruben, that it wasn’t my intention to leave Leslie here, at least not for too long without my assistance.” Jimenez closed the notepad and placed it beside the pile of books. “I also wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, a sudden stubborn feeling came over him, and he wrinkled his nose, brows pinched as he glared at Jimenez who gave him a neutral expression.

The man truly knew how to deal with him and his temperament. It only makes sense, he deals with many in Beacon, so why not Ruben, who has his own issues. Not like Ruben wants the man anywhere near his research, it was bad enough that he was suspicious of the doctor’s movements and odd behavior. Jimenez doesn’t do anything unless it fitted either his goal or someone else’s. The man worked well with a tight leash, one that’s been shortened over time.

“It’s only an offer, Ruben,” Jimenez said, exasperated. He looked down at Leslie, and Ruben noted the clenched jaw, and fingers curling.

“I let him sleep in my old room.”

“What about Laura’s?” Jimenez asked, and he glanced up at him, his gaze steady, waiting for a reaction that Ruben didn’t give.

“He didn’t like it in there.”

“You tried?”

Ruben continued to glare, hoping he could figure out Jimenez’s true motives. “Of course I tried. I also managed to give him a bath, but he mostly did it himself until soap got in his eyes.”

“A bath?” Jimenez asked, and finally, Ruben noticed the change. He was surprised. His thin, almost transparent, brows arched as his expression went down to Leslie’s sleeping form beneath the maroon colored blanket. “The nurses always had troubles giving Leslie a bath, sometimes they gave up. There were always punishments for uncooperative patients.”

He figured there were, and saw the effects upon Leslie’s body, but with that tidbit of information. He wouldn’t mind looking some more, a bit of detail he could’ve missed when Leslie was naked in the bathtub. “It’s no different from washing bodies,” Ruben said, stepping toward the table and picking up one of the books. He analyzed them while Jimenez collected himself and whatever his intentions were with Leslie.

“Those are dead ones,” he said, tense, “it’s completely different.”

Ruben gave a simple nod while reading the spines of the books. They consisted of advanced anatomy and chemistry, and a psychological subdivision of mental behaviors that consist of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He didn’t want the last one to include whatever research Jimenez was trying to dig up, but he was curious about something.

“Why is he in Beacon?” Ruben asked, placing the books down, “besides the obvious signs. I want to know.”

“He’s autistic,” Jimenez answered stiffly.

Figured. There was a slight thought to it, but he dismissed it altogether when it came. Like a howl, or even the wind screeching against the window pane upstairs in his bedroom.

They stood in silence until it became uncomfortable.

“He’ll get cold,” Ruben muttered, he moved without Jimenez’s word and knelt down next to Leslie. Placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him slightly before nudging him. “Wake up, Leslie.”

He softly shook his head, his brows bunched together, but his eyes stayed shut.

Ruben rolled his eyes. “Wake up. Come to bed.”

“Bed…” Leslie murmured, finally opening his eyes and blinking several times before gazing at Ruben. “Come to bed.”

“Yes,” Ruben said, trailing a hand along his arm to Leslie’s own that reached for his from under the blanket, “get up or the rats will feast on you, then what will Jimenez do with a spoiled brat?”

He meant to speak in a harsh tone, disinterest and annoyance toward Leslie who was still partially asleep, blinking at him as if he were a dream of some kind. Yet when Ruben had mentioned Jimenez, Leslie stopped blinking, and his mouth tensed. He knew when to not make a subtle movement that could say something that shouldn’t be said.

He let Ruben pull him into a sitting position, their hands parting, but still close enough to grasp.

“A few days together and you’re friends,” Jimenez said in a mocking tone.

Ruben ignored him. “Are you cold?”

Leslie shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his free hand while the other twitched, holding back to grasp Ruben’s.

“Let’s go,” Ruben rose, and took Leslie’s hand once more, the blanket falling from Leslie’s body, but he stood closer which was unnecessary, and looked up at him as if he were about to lean close.

Except Ruben broke the connection by turning to Jimenez and dropping Leslie’s hand. “Take him to my bedroom, and make sure he stays in there.”

“There is a lock on your and Laura’s doors,” Jimenez said, matter-of-factly.

Ruben didn’t like how he spoke in a sly voice, as if he knew something, but was completely amused by it.

“Whatever. Lock the door. I’m heading to my research lab, and I’d rather not be interrupted during that time,” Ruben said, about to turn around.

“I can help if you want,” Jimenez offered.

Ruben’s entire body froze, thoughts running wild as his heart picked up. He felt the briefest touch of Leslie’s fingers on his arm, but he pulled away and he looked to the flames instead. His entire body language was discarding Ruben as much as Ruben was discarding him since Jimenez abrupt arrival.

It was good, they needed to break the connection before Jimenez thinks something he shouldn’t be thinking. And to stop whatever was happening between them that Ruben knew would inevitably be a continuous distraction.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Ruben said, stalking out of the room. This is how it has to be, everything that happened shouldn’t have occured, and he knew better than to yield to temptation. It was disturbing, not just Leslie’s advances, but Jimenez bringing up his sister.

He didn’t need the reminders, but he kept on receiving them.

He can hear her laughter inside his head, and Leslie’s hands on his arm. Imprints of moments he wished he could have for a lifetime, but knew he couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add that Ruben/Ruvik assumed Leslie had a mental disorder because he was in Beacon, but he suspected Leslie being neurodivergent. I'll add something in a chapter to specify this instead of an Author's Note. But currently, I just want to clarify that until I update. :)


	11. Grotesque and Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is trying his best to avoid Leslie, but he can't help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. :D Finally figured out an ending, and I'm unsure if people will like it, but might as well see once I write and upload it. (Whenever that will be.) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

  Ruben wrote down the date on one of his research papers, the ones he managed to finish during the late night. It’s officially two weeks since Leslie came to live with him, including the disappearance and appearance of Jimenez. The man likely wandered the halls, or even ventured into his work space without his authorization. It irked Ruben that the man can’t seem to stop looking at everything he has with a scrutinizing eye. As if the details weren’t matching to his specific needs.

They didn’t, but Ruben wasn’t about to correct him. Since the doctor returned from Krimson, Ruben made sure Leslie kept his distance, and the precautions that he was sure wouldn’t slip from whatever they held in secret. Both within their palms, squeezing tight until its sure to evaporate. 

He guesses that what’s going to happen eventually. Evaporate. A supposed method of breaking the tension off before it drew too close and exposed them to Jimenez.

Ruben wasn’t certain if he’d defend himself. Maybe he’d scowl and reveal the truth, and maybe the doctor would drag Leslie away from Ruben’s already dirtied hands from the contaminated bodies below the house. Between the walls of his childhood prison. 

He couldn’t be more damaged from doing what he’s doing once the seed was planted when he was a child. The licking of flames peeling back supple flesh, and his sister’s agonizing scream when the warm wind touched his face once she pushed him out through the window. 

Ruben sucked in a breath, slamming a book down on a desk that sat in the center of the library. A sickened pain grew in his chest, beating in phantom rhythm with his heart. The pain engulfed him, the memories and thoughts and feelings were burned free from his body. Except his own desires pulling to the edge of his satisfactions. He couldn’t let go of what happened, even how much his father would like to hide it from the world. 

Laura. 

How could he hide her? To erase any semblance of her from his mind, to shut him in a room by himself with nothing but rage. 

He hated him. Hated the man that it left an emptiness in Ruben’s chest for whatever his father stood for. A patriarch with no respect, a coward, a desperate man with too much conviction and little love to spare. Pathetic.

“Ruben?” He clenched his teeth and looked to his side where Leslie stood, looking up at him with questioning blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

What an odd question to ask him.

“I’m fine,” Ruben told him, returning to piling up the books he no longer needed, and the papers he’s hoping to review with the rest of his research back in his study. “Where’s Jimenez?” Shouldn’t he be watching Leslie? Isn’t that the whole reason of bringing him to his home. The thought keeps coming to him, but he knows Jimenez is nothing more than a sycophant.

“He’s downstairs,” Leslie said, looking to the side, “writing notes.”

Ruben grunts, finding that hard to believe. Maybe all those notes were for  _ them.  _ Nothing but a leech, sucking the life out of others, and mostly Ruben’s hard work. 

“Is he now,” Ruben says, picking up the papers and turning on his heel, Ruben walks away out of the library. Down the hall, he can’t help the annoyance rising when he heard the same creaks behind him, filtered down by their asymmetrical movements. He stops, and feels the slight touch of Leslie’s hands on his back before he stepped away. “Don’t follow me.”

He isn’t sure if Leslie would listen to him, but as he walks down the hall, he gets the answer by the same sounds until he reaches the room to his study. With a deep sigh, Ruben turns around and faces Leslie. “Do you have nothing else to do?”

Leslie stares at him, curious and tentative. “I’d rather be with you.”

So much for the idea of staying away from each other. 

Ruben opens the door and they walk into the room. A simple desk, a chair that sometimes creaks with his movements, books on the side, several diagrams, and a small box of pencils.

Ruben checks the lock on the door and closes it after Leslie stepped into the room. He turned around and found Leslie tilting his head to the side, looking at the notes on his desk. 

“Are you building something?” Leslie asked. 

Ruben swallowed, apprehensive. He walks over to the papers and places them into a pile to the side, including the ones he brought with him from the library. 

“No, it’s just a theory.”

“Is that why you’re interested in bodies?” Leslie asked, not looking at Ruben but at the papers. 

“So, you’re not entirely oblivious,” Ruben comments, turning away from him and opening a few books at an attempt to not to do anything rash. 

“I did see what was in the basement,” Leslie mutters, “I’m not blind.”

Ruben goes still, a smile crept on his face. Little by little, Leslie can surprise him, and maybe things weren’t always so unfocused between them. Leslie knew exactly what he witnessed, and wasn’t stupid to speak it. 

He closed a book and set it down. “You’re not afraid?”

Leslie shrugs, tracing a diagram of a brain. “I was, but I’ve seen things too, before I met you.” 

“And what was that?” Maybe something more gruesome, not like the doctors at Beacon cared about their patients. At least when they want to make an impression. 

“Rust covered metal, damp grey walls and floors,” Leslie said, peering up at Ruben, “I never liked it, sometimes I pretend it was a dream.”

Maybe it was, whatever it was. 

Ruben moved around the chair and stood in front of Leslie, “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Appealing.”

Leslie quirked a smile. “Am I?”

“You are,” Ruben said. And mesmerizing, an unbearable profound distraction that eliminates everything else around him. There was a close inert reaction of wanting to strangle Leslie, to ease the breath from his lungs and be rid of him. Instead, he brought him into an embrace that was at one moment, stiff, on Leslie’s part, before he relaxed. 

He caresses Leslie’s spine with his hand, listening to the sharp intake of breath, and the pull of Leslie’s fingers knotting in Ruben’s coat. 

Blood. The stench of it was close, it dried under his fingernails, and soaked in his clothes. He always threw them out, but sometimes it simply followed him until he scrubbed his skin clean. At least when he could bother to bathe. Besides that, Ruben is reminded of it while holding Leslie, craving the taste of him, and the clear memory when he washed out the blood from cold bodies, all of them disposed of, a reckless abandon that barely stayed long in his mind. He carved into flesh of screaming subjects, they were all supple and warm under his fingers. 

He liked it. In a sick disgusting way, he liked that he had done it, and that he was holding Leslie. The contrast of grotesque and tender collided. All of it unforeseen, a blurry display of helplessness and rot.

“He’ll notice your absence,” Ruben says against the shell of Leslie’s ear, feeling him shiver in his arms, “you should go back to the library.”

“I don’t have too,” Leslie whispers. 

Ruben releases him, and notices the slight flush on Leslie’s face, smiling at the way he looked away from him. “You should, I don’t need him asking unnecessary questions.”

He was hesitant, but gave a short nod. “Okay.” Leslie turned away from Ruben, and unlocked the door and walked out. 

Ruben turns his chair around and slumps into it. The stretch of his burned skin aches, but he’s more focused on the uncertain feelings he’s harboring since Leslie’s arrival. It was at the precipice of his mind every moment they’re together, and now that he had gotten too close once more bothers him. 

Ruben curled and uncurled his fingers a few times before turning to his desk, to the papers, and books, and started on his work.


	12. Indescribable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruben is spending some time alone until Jimenez decides to question him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd write a chapter without Leslie in it, but he's mentioned. Also, I'm sorry for the late update. I could've written this a week ago, but a lot of things were happening. My emotions were fluctuating between depression and motivation, but I was mostly focusing on my original work, and some other fanfic stuff from other fandoms. :D (Also Kingdom Hearts 3!!)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.

Deft fingers moved along the piano keys, his eyes closed, memorizing where to put pressure and when to move. The music swelled in the room, a need to think of something else, to ease away other things from his mind. The distractions were common and the exertion to stay on his feet was getting to him. He stayed in the room, away from the others, and he let the music become his to control. 

With each movement, his heart raced, he breathed deeply in, and the image appeared in his mind as he slowed his fingers, soothing the sound at the sight of the white haired male in the distance. Dirt and blood stained his fingers, and his blue eyes widened. Awestruck and fear, a sense of safety yet his flight-or-fight is ringing loud in his head, he can see it in his eyes as he moves back and forth on his feet. 

He wants to tell him its okay, but he can’t seem to form the words, not when the music grew heavier, and he grabbed his jaw and pulled him closer. He knew pain too well, but there was also trust, a misplaced kind of trust that he had created in the weeks they’ve known each other. And he wanted to taste the trembling lips of this man as fear stretched thin between them. 

His grip on his jaw soothed away, fingers finding the white strands of this frightened man, and yet no words were uttered. 

He slowed the music, shaking his head at his rapid thoughts, of wanting something he couldn’t have. And yet he imagined it, a kiss shared between them, one that didn’t need to be hidden in the shadows, nor between the tortured screams and grime of the basement. 

“Ruben.”

He opened his eyes and his fingers went still. His heart was still racing and a slight irritation crawled itself into his mind, the entire image fading away as he turned his head to look at Jimenez. 

“What is it?” he asked, biting back an insult. 

Jimenez stood in a white coat, clean and pressed, no wrinkle in sight. A grey shirt underneath tucked in black trousers. He was an aging thing, the crevices of his rotten soul was easily noticeable. Ruben didn’t like looking at it so he went back to staring at the keys before removing his hands, ignoring the urge to continue playing.

“Leslie is sleeping,” Jimenez states. “You don’t have to worry about his whereabouts.”

Ruben furrowed his brows, confused. “I’m not.”

Jimenez scoffs, and Ruben’s reminded of his father when he was young and he caught him in a lie. Once he had the inclination to hide behind his sister when his father was about to have a tantrum. It always echoed in his head later that night, his racing heart not able to go still afterwards. He didn’t like that there was someone similar alive and standing close by that gave him this memory. 

“I’m not dumb.” A tone of an unsatisfied man, reprimanding him like he was a child. It was distasteful. “There’s something odd going on between you and Leslie.”

Ruben stood from the bench, fixing his cuff. “There’s nothing going on between us.” A flicker of Leslie standing in front of him and Ruben pushing him against the wall, their mouths meeting in an act of desperation and rage makes its way into his head. “You did leave him for a week, what else was I supposed to do with him besides entertain your bored patient.” All they really did was burn papers and books.

The gap that allowed them to grow closer was the issue, but Ruben didn’t bother acknowledging it. He pushed it from his mind while Jimenez continued speaking, worry seemed to seep into his voice.

“He didn’t find out anything in the basement?” Jimenez asked, glaring at Ruben.

“If he did, it doesn’t seem to bother him.”

Jimenez snarled. “I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” Ruben wasn’t surprised that Jimenez would simply shake his head, taking in his sardonic tone and letting it clear away any other suspicions to the basement. It’s not like he was going to explain it to Jimenez. 

“While I was gone, and whatever entertainment that allowed him to cling to you like a fretful child. I do suspect you attended to his  _ needs. _ ” Jimenez didn’t hide the coy emphasis, and it only allowed Ruben’s disgust for the man grow.

“You think so low of me to consider that when I have my research,” Ruben said, not hiding his annoyance, fingers curling, “if you’re so bothered by your patient’s unnecessary attachment, why don’t you leave with him? You’ve stayed long enough, and I’m sure his behavior has changed to the point he can return to Beacon.” 

The words seem to leave his lips before he can regret them. A hint of it as he glanced away, glaring at the dust stained carpet. He was easily provoked by this man, he never liked being in the same room as him. Always adding to the persuasion that he cared about Ruben and acted more on the terms that he can use Ruben for his own ends. Like the rotten aspect of him, it was too obvious not to notice. 

Jimenez hummed, all his anger left his features as he glanced up at the ceiling before looking at Ruben. He gave him a tilted smile. “I’ll consider it. He has stayed for almost three weeks, and there’s been a significant change.”

“I’d rather not have this strategy repeated,” Ruben said. “I need to focus on my research more than your subjects. Consider a different tactic or I’ll lock my doors.” 

Jimenez grinned, the sly bastard knew Ruben knew why he was there, why he brought Leslie. It was almost pathetic, but here they were, and Ruben barely fought the strain. At least not until he stayed in Leslie’s presence for as long as he could. Having a sense of something he thought he lost. 

“Of course, I do apologize for the inconvenience, however the mess that was created in my absence, and during Leslie’s stay, it has benefited the both of us,” Jimenez said, stepping back toward the entrance to the room. “Depends on the circumstance and perception of the absence.” He turned and left the room, leaving Ruben glaring at the man until he turned the corner. 

He hated him. 

That despicable man. He was too aware, knew how to move his piece upon the board, to press his fingers along the key to make it sing. He knew when to push Ruben over the edge, to make him angry inside, a sliver in his skin that needed to be plucked free. 

He’s using Leslie’s attachment against him. Whatever  _ they  _ wanted from him, they were getting it through Jimenez. Even if he did lie in the reports and took samples from Ruben’s research notes upon his desk. The man was a leech, a cockroach, something that needed to die, but somehow thrived. 

Ruben sat down on the bench, pressing his fingers upon the keys, letting the music fill the room. It was light, unlike his tense feelings coiling in his body, he let himself think about Leslie. His fear had smoothed out after several days of being with each other, watching one another as they stood in shadows, surrounded by cold air and the smell of the earth, old parchment, and tang of blood. 

Now he was regretting his words and hated that he had followed Jimenez’s whims without thought. It was inevitable. Something he couldn’t fight. Maybe this was a good thing, there would be no other distractions that would hinder his work. 

Ruben dropped his hand from the piano and sat in silence, unable to let go of his regret that began to form into something indescribable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever notice, I try to write Ruben/Ruvik with annoyance or a bitter personality. I try to think of bitter things and listen to music either with a slow sound, sad or something, but not too sad. I try to be annoyed myself and write him like that because he seems like that in my head. Haha! 
> 
> Also his feelings confuse him in this fic and he's probably just pissed at himself because he doesn't know what to do with them. 
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative.


End file.
